


like old times

by The Master of the Deck (officiumdefunctorum)



Series: on wednesdays we whump [5]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dissociation, Drinking & Talking, Gen, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rand al'Thor Needs a Hug, Reunions, Tabac Is Basically Weed, Unbeta'd, War, We Die Like Men, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiumdefunctorum/pseuds/The%20Master%20of%20the%20Deck
Summary: Rand is not okay.Sequel to "in the rain on the bridge".
Relationships: Perrin Aybara & Mat Cauthon, Rand al'Thor & Mat Cauthon, Rand al'Thor & Perrin Aybara, Rand al'Thor & Tam al'Thor
Series: on wednesdays we whump [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661389
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	like old times

**Author's Note:**

> Another installment of the Modern Westlands AU!
> 
> Non-con is part of a dream/flashback, and is brief/not explicit. Scene begins with all text in italics.
> 
> (Created as part of the "On Wednesdays We Whump" for WoT Trash discord. Invite at the end!)

It was a little after noon when Mat pulled up to the al’Thor farm. Rand was slumped and silent next to him, and Mat had no idea what to do next.

“Do you... want me to go in first?” Mat asked, for lack of anything else to say.

Rand sighed. “Why, so you can warn him that I’m six different kinds of fucked up?”

Mat shrugged. “Kinda, yeah.”

Mat watched him rub at his face with his newly dressed fingers. He’d redone the bandages on them during the last half an hour in the car, and Mat had very pointedly tried not to look at the damage to Rand’s hands. He hadn’t done a very good job.

That Mat hadn’t thrown up yet was something of which he was very proud.

“Just,” Rand stopped, and breathed for a moment. “Can I have a minute?”

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Mat hurried to say, starting to take off his seatbelt. “I’ll just... go check on the horses, yeah? Yell if you need me.”

“Thanks,” said Rand, looking at his hands.

Mat started walking toward the stables and barn, thankful that he’d worn boots today. The mud and gravel drive gave way to wet, springy grass as he rounded the side of the hay barn, and Mat paused in surprise. Perrin’s truck was parked on the far side of the stables.

His suspicion was confirmed when, as he approached the stables, a gigantic furry head appeared around the corner.

“Hopper!” Mat exclaimed, and the wolf bounded in place a couple times before running at Mat.

Preparing himself for the greeting, Mat met Hopper part of the way and squatted, bracing his feet. Hopper didn’t _quite_ barrel into him, but hopped on his back paws to put them on Mat’s shoulders.

“Ugh, you are _muddy_ ,” complained Mat, but laughed when Hopper did his level best to stick his tongue in Mat’s face. “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” he said, standing. “Where’s Perrin? You out here scaring the sheep without him?”

Hopper made one of his wolfy vocalizations at Mat and started running in the direction of the stables. Brushing himself off as best as he could, Mat followed in his wake.

Inside the stables, Mat could hear Perrin talking, his deep voice rumbling out his usual chatter as he worked with Tam’s horses.

“Hey, Wolf Man, I thought you were tied up over in Devon Ride?” Mat called over to him.

Perrin lifted his head from where he was inspecting the new foal and smiled broadly at Mat. “Mat! I thought that might be you. Hey. Things finished up more quickly than I thought they would. Had to amputate one of poor Bo’s front paws. Fucking _bear traps_ ,” Perrin growled, and Hopper, now sitting beside him once more, rumbled in agreement.

“Poor thing is gonna have to go to the rescue out in Ghealdan, now. No way a shadowcat can survive on three legs out here. Fucking Isam,” he scowled, and gave the foal a final stroke with a towel before coming over to wrap Mat in a hug. “Where’s Rand?” He asked, looking over Mat’s shoulder like he might be hiding.

Hesitating, Mat looked around for the wooden chairs Tam kept out here for when he was working on tack.

“He’s...” Mat stopped, wringing his hands a little. “Hey, can we sit?”

“Sure,” said Perrin, a look of concern on his face. He followed Mat to the chairs and they both sat, the sturdy constructions hardly creaking under Perrin’s weight. “What’s wrong?”

“Rand,” said Mat. “He’s—fuck, Perrin, he is _not_ okay,” said Mat.

In a halting jumble of words, Mat explained what he’d seen, not leaving anything out. The three of them had been friends for as long as Mat had memories, and—barring Nynaeve—there was nobody else in the world who would understand the whole thing better.

“Light,” said Perrin, his face horrified. “Mat, do you think—”

“I don’t know _what_ to think, man,” sighed Mat. “Fuck, the things he _said_. I only even understood about half of it, he was crying so hard, but. But it must have been bad. Light, he’s so _thin_ ,” whispered Mat.

He stared at the ground before lifting glistening eyes to Perrin’s. “The weight he’s lost, what he said about a box, and his fucking _hands_ ,” Mat wiped at his eyes for the hundredth time that day. “I think he was—fucking ashes, it looks like he was _tortured_ ,” Mat said, forcing the final word out like it was something ugly and foul tasting.

“Bloody ashes,” Perrin said, scrubbing a hand across his own eyes. “Eight months, and—you don’t think...” he trailed off.

Mat shrugged helplessly, slumping in his seat. “I don’t know what to think. I want to call Lan, but I’m afraid of what he might say. And Rand doesn’t even know him, you know? He’s been gone for so long; I don’t just want to invade his privacy like that.”

Perrin gave Mat a look. “You would absolutely invade his privacy.”

Mat waved a hand at him. “Not this kind,” he shook his head. “This isn’t online dating or a secret balloon fetish,” Mat said. “I wouldn’t do that to him, not with... whatever this is.”

Standing up, Perrin whistled for Hopper. “I want to see him,” he said.

Mat stood up, too, watching the big wolf pad over to Perrin’s side. The horses, by now used to his visits, were placid in their stalls.

“Yeah, okay,” said Mat. “I bet he’ll be glad to see you.”

When they finally made their way through the squishy grass and back into sight of the farmhouse, it was to see both Rand and Tam on the expansive covered porch of their house. Rand was on is knees, in front of Tam, his arms wrapped around his father’s waist, face hidden in the arms Tam had wrapped around his head.

 _“Fuck,”_ whispered Perrin, and Mat could only agree in silence.

Catching sight of them, Tam met their eyes from a distance. Though they were too far away to see much, both Mat and Perrin caught the nod he gave them, and the gesture he made toward the hay barn.

It was over an hour before Tam met Perrin and Mat in the cozy, well maintained ‘office’ as Tam referred to it. The space had a quaint, handmade canopied bed for sleeping, and a smattering of rustic, overstuffed chairs, including a rocking chair fit for any rustic painting.

More _importantly_ , it had a refrigerator and a well stocked liquor cabinet, of which both Mat and Perrin had availed themselves.

Both looking up from their respective drinks when Tam came through, they watched Tam grab a glass from the shelf, fill it with three fingers of brandy, and toss it back. He filled it again before he stumped over to them and sat down heavily in an armchair.

Silence reigned between the three of them while Tam polished off his second drink, this time in a few swallows.

Abruptly, Tam whipped his glass at the far wall. It shattered, and the two men flinched, watching as Tam let his head fall into his hands.

“Tam?” Mat asked, quietly.

“Those _bastards_ ,” Tam whispered, and Mat could see his shoulders shake briefly before he straightened, composing himself. “Those bloody bastards. They just—cut him loose. My son, my _boy_ , goes off to fight in this war—for me!—and they slap some bandages on him and send him home like a damaged Bel Tine gift,” he seethed. “Do you know when he was released from the military hospital?” Tam looked between Mat and Perrin with eyes bright with fury.

Mat shook his head, watching as Perrin just pursed his lips and looked down at his beer.

“Yesterday,” Tam spat. “He told me—he said he wasn’t even _admitted_ to the hospital for treatment until nearly a week after they, after...”

Tam’s face crumpled, and he put his face in his hands. Perrin moved first, walking over to the man and placing a big hand on his shoulder. Hopper made a whining noise and settled himself atop Tam’s feet.

It was—frightening, to see Tam like this. Both Tam and Mat’s Da were pretty close lipped about their time in service north of the Borderlands, before it had come to be called The Blight. Even so, Mat had heard terrible stories from both of them, but he’d never, _never_ , seen Tam like this.

It broke his heart, and the irrational part of him wanted to go find Rand immediately and make sure he was still there, in one piece, still back.

Because Mat didn’t think Tam would have reacted like this even if Rand had died.

After a minute, Tam brought himself back under control, and lowered his hands from his face.

“Light, lads, I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his face with a handkerchief from his pocket. “I just—I hate to see him hurt. Light, I hate to see _any_ of you hurt,” he said, glancing at Mat. Mat looked away, not wanting to think about himself, just now. “He’s in his room, sleeping. I made sure he took his pain meds, and a hot toddy, too.”

“Nynaeve would yell at you for that,” said Perrin, releasing Tam’s shoulder with a gentle pat.

“Yeah, and then she’d give him another one,” snorted Tam. “You saw him, Mat,” Tam shook his head. “He didn’t say, but he hasn’t been sleeping.”

“He had a nightmare,” Mat said, quietly, rolling his beer bottle between his hands. “In the car, when we were on our way here. It was—bad,” Mat finished.

Sighing, Tam closed his eyes. “Light have mercy,” he whispered.

On the advice of the more sensible people in Mat’s life, they had opted not to have any kind of welcome home party for Rand. Mat was now really, _really_ grateful that Nynaeve, Tam, and his Da had all vehemently opposed the idea.

For all the joy he felt at having Rand back, there were a lot of other things he was feeling that tempered it. Mostly, Mat just felt—really fucking _sad_. It was awful to see Tam like this. A man whose picture could hold pride of place in the dictionary entry for ‘stolid’ had been driven to what Mat could only interpret as inchoate rage.

“Did they,” Perrin started, and then hesitated before going on. “Did they say anything to you, when they called to say he’d be coming home?”

Shaking his head, Tam sat back in the chair with a deep sigh. “No. I was surprised it wasn’t Rand himself calling, but things can get so—tangled up, out there, that anything could have prevented him from getting in touch, himself. They said he’d been injured but he was _recovering_ ,” Tam spat the word. “And that was five days ago. Light, I though maybe he’d been shot, not—not _this_.”

Staring hard at his beer, Mat then set it aside and went to busy himself fixing Tam another drink.

“There’s never much in the way of news coming down from the Borderlands,” Perrin said. “So, I don’t even really know what he could have doing up there that would have gotten him...” Perrin trailed off, and Mat hunched his shoulders over the brandy old fashioned he was muddling.

“I—tried not to pry,” said Tam. “After our first few talks, after Rand left, I knew he couldn’t share most of it. But I was there, back when it started. I can say that it was all too much of a mess, then, for the factions and gangs to have bothered…” Tam paused, inhaling and exhaling. “Taking prisoners.” It was twenty-two years ago, though, and any of my old service contacts—well,” Tam laughed bitterly. “I took my out, with Rand, like Abell did. Most of the Shienaran’s stayed on because it was so close to home, and we fell out of touch.”

Finished with the drink, Mat brought the tumbler over to Tam and passed it to him without saying anything. The man lifted it in a silent toast and took a drink, then coughed into his hand.

“Little heavy on the brandy, Mat,” he wheezed.

“You’re welcome,” Mat answered, retrieving his beer and flopping down into his chair. “So basically, they didn’t have to tell you shit, Rand _couldn’t_ tell you shit, something fucked him up good enough that he got a discharge with honors out of it and they sent him home with some prescriptions and a pat on the back?”

“That’s about the size of it.” Tam sipped from his drink. “He said they’re giving him a Heron.”

Perrin choked on his beer. “Fucking _what_?”

Shaking his head, Tam shrugged. “Didn’t ask him why, he was—he didn’t say much, and what he did say was all over the place. He just tossed it out when I was getting him settled in bed. ‘You know, they’re giving me a Heron, like yours.’”

“Holy shit,” breathed Mat.

He let that thought percolate, looking between Tam and Perrin. A bloody _Heron_ , a mark of skill, competence, and heroism. They even gave you a _sword_.

Then Mat slumped again. “That actually doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

“Not a bit,” Tam agreed. “I mean, I’m proud of him, no matter what, but I know what the Heron marks are worth, coming from Tar Valon. They’re not easy to get, but when you get one, it’s usually because you had to do things you shouldn’t have had to in the first place, or they’re covering their asses by covering yours in laurels.”

“That’s very unpatriotic of you, Tam,” said Mat, draining off the rest of his beer. “It’s good to see hanging out with Da is still a good influence.”

Tam snorted, and Mat felt proud that he could get the man to laugh in the midst of all this. Mat Cauthon might be bad at his own feelings, but he was great at other people’s. Sometimes. Well, he was great at deflecting them, in any case.

“I don’t have any idea where to go, from here,” said Perrin. “I haven’t even _seen_ him, yet, and I feel like I’ve lost my friend.”

“Don’t say that,” said Mat, sharper than he intended. “Rand is _hurt_ , he’s not dead, and so what if he’s changed? Are you the same person you were when Rand left?” Mat asked. “I know I’m fucking not, Light. Rand left being I even went to Ebou Dar, you know? And that was—well, you know how that worked out. _You_ hadn’t met Gaul or started a turf war with Team Slayer in that old mining lodge.”

“Please don’t call them that,” Perrin sighed. “They’re not cartoon villains, Mat.”

“They kind of are,” Mat said, rising to get another drink for himself. “I mean, they’ve been lobbying to have whole chunks of the Two Rivers and the Mountains of Mist privatized for game hunting. Plus, that one dude’s name is Isam Vrah. He even _sounds_ like a villain.”

“Just because I hate them and would happily leave them to be eaten by eels, does not mean that they are evil. They’re just greedy, selfish sociopaths.”

“Pretty sure that’s somewhere in the definition of evil,” Mat sing-songed quietly while he raided the beer fridge.

For the next couple hours, they passed the time drinking Tam’s liquor and catching up on their lives. At one point, Tam produced a wooden pipe and some of Abell Cauthon’s signature Two Rivers Tabac, and they all were better for blunting the edge of their collective anxiety.

“How’s Bo?” Asked Tam, tapping the pipe out on the bottom of his boot. “Any word from Aram?”

“She’s recovering alright,” Perrin said, after checking his phone. “Scared, in pain, what you’d expect,” Perrin sighed, and Hopper ambled over to receive head scratches in exchange for licking Perrin’s face. “She’ll be okay in a couple weeks. The sanctuary in Ghealdan is a nice place.”

“Nothing to prove it was one of Isam’s? The trap?” Tam inquired, settling back in the chair. The subject of Rand still hung in the air, but Mat didn’t begrudge any of them the break from it, not when there wasn’t anything to be done about it but be there when Rand woke up.

Shaking his head, Perrin took another swig of beer, and dug his fingers into Hopper’s thick ruff of fur when the wolf placed his head in Perrin’s lap. “We get poachers in the area often enough that the Rangers can’t do more than ask them about it, really. They’ve got their property and their hunting rights.”

“And it just _so happens_ that the local wolf pack lurks around the border of their property and scares away all the game,” Mat grinned. “Right, Wolf Man?”

“Light, you are never going to let that die, are you,” Perrin muttered.

“Never ever,” agreed Mat. “In all of my various and sundry escapades, many of which were caught on camera, I have yet to become a meme. Light, Perrin, you got invited to go on Trakand Talk next week to talk about the conservation efforts in the Manetheren National Park! You’re stuck with it for life.”

“I hate you,” sighed Perrin. “You and Gaul both.”

“You are not allowed to hate Gaul,” Mat interjected. “He is far too pure for anything like hatred.”

“Who’s Gaul?”

They all turned to see Rand lurking in the tall, squared arch of the office door. He looked a little better, now that he’d gotten some rest. It still bothered Mat to see his hair so short, when most of Mat’s memories had Rand’s curly hair flopping around his neck and ears. At least he was out of that creepy uniform—Mat could never quite tell what color it was. He wore sweatpants that bunched around his walking cast, and an oversized hooded sweatshirt that Mat suspected was one of Alsbet Luhhan’s creations.

“Gaul,” said Mat, into the silence. “Is Perrin’s Aiel sex slave.”

“Blood and ashes, Mat,” said Perrin at the same time that Tam choked on his drink.

While Tam coughed and got his breath back—Mat was _pretty sure_ he was laughing, too—Perrin rose from his chair and enfolded Rand in one of his enormous, tender bear hugs. Hopper got up to investigate, and when Perrin released him, Rand looked down to see the huge wolf eyeing him.

Eyebrows raised, Rand looked at Perrin. “Is that a wolf?”

* * *

After the introduction to Hopper, and retrieving a beer of his own, Rand settled himself in the vacant chair between Tam and Perrin.

“Sleep okay?” Tam asked.

“Yeah Da,” said Rand, though Mat saw how Rand looked away from Tam as he said it. “You were right about the meds. Thanks. So,” he said, looking back to Perrin, who once again had a lap full of wolf head. “You have an Aiel sex slave?”

Mat snickered, even as Perrin flicked a bottle cap at him.

“No,” said Perrin. “Gaul is my boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Said Rand, a real smile splitting his face. “That’s wonderful, Perrin. How long have you been together?”

“A little longer than I’ve had Hopper, so, almost two years?” Perrin frowned. “Has it been that long since we’ve talked?”

Rand’s smile became brittle. “It’s—hard. To keep in touch, up there. Especially my unit, we—” Rand faltered. “It just wasn’t easy for us. Security and all.”

“We understand, son,” said Tam, voice kind.

“So, what have you been looking forward to doing, now that you’re home?” Perrin interjected.

Rand took a long drink of the beer, seeming to savor it especially as he closed his eyes. “Honestly? Working on the farm. I miss the animals, how… _fresh_ everything is in Emond’s Field,” Rand sighed. “The Blight fucking stinks.”

“I mean, so do sheep farms,” said Mat, now liberally packing Tam’s pipe again. There were four of them, and Tam lived literally down the road from where Abell grew it; he could get more whenever he wanted.

“ _Not_ like the Blight,” Rand said. “It’s like the Waterwood on a hot day, but if there were dead bodies floating in it.”

“Something about the fallout,” Tam agreed, shuddering. “Things started growing… wrong.”

“Well that sounds horrifying,” Mat announced, disliking the gray cast to Rand’s skin. The only gray thing about him should be his eyes. He stood and presented the—slightly over full—pipe to Rand. “There you go. Welcome home.”

“Wow,” said Rand, inspecting the pipe. “This your Da’s?”

“Like I’d disgrace Tam’s pipe with anything else,” Mat said, looking around. “What the fuck did we do with the lighter?”

“Here,” said Perrin, fishing it out of his seat cushions and passing it to Rand.

“Still can’t believe Abell is selling this everywhere,” Tam said, shaking his head. “Nobody could have pointed out the Two Rivers on a map before.”

“The people love Da’s weed,” said Mat, seating himself on the floor across from Rand. His armchair was too far away, and he didn’t feel getting up every time they passed the pipe.

“Tabac is basically currency in the Borderlands,” agreed Rand, lighting the pipe and puffing on it. “Light,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “But we did not get Two Rivers very often.

After a good ten minutes of low conversation, the pipe was tapped out, and Tam put it away. Hopper had migrated to lay across Rand’s feet, and in turn Mat sprawled on the floor, his head and shoulders pillowed on Hopper’s thick fur.

Mat turned his gaze upward, and saw Rand looking down at him, and though it was upside down, Mat could see the relaxed smile on his friend’s face; he thought he might need to send his Da a card, or something.

They sat and talked until Perrin got a call he had to take outside, and Mat—who had been awake a goddamn long time—was starting to fall asleep atop the placid wolf beneath him.

“Hey,” said Perrin, returning. “I’ve got appointments early tomorrow, so I need to get going.”

Rand smiled at him and stood up. From his vantage point, Mat caught his wince as he jostled what had to be tender ribs, or maybe put too much pressure on his fingers.

“Good to see you, Perrin,” Rand said, embracing him. “Bring Gaul next time, yeah? I’d like to meet him.”

“Sure thing, Rand,” said Perrin, and gripped Rand’s shoulder. “Light, it’s good to have you back.”

Mat sat up to allow Hopper to leave and Perrin to hold a quick conference with Tam about the foal before both man and wolf departed. Yawning, he stretched out his back and shoulders, feeling too lethargic to move. His Da’s tabac wasn’t the kind to put someone on their ass, but Mat had had a long day, and he was fucking tired.

“You’re welcome to have a kip,” Tam said, and Mat blinked up at him. Rand had wandered off into the barn, probably in search of whatever cat was in residence now that the wolf was gone. “I’ll fix some supper in a bit, but it’s not yet six. I’ll send Rand out to wake you with a plate when it’s ready.”

“He okay?” Mat mumbled, toeing off his boots and discarding his belt on a nearby chair.

“He’ll be alright,” said Tam, a melancholy smile on his face. “Some time with you and Perrin probably helped. It’s only his first day back. I—shouldn’t have been so dour about things earlier.”

Mat sat on the edge of the bed and shrugged. “Take each moment as it comes, right?”

“Sure, son,” smiled Tam, and wandered off in the same direction that Rand had a few minutes ago.

Mat passed out atop the blankets to the sundry soft noises of Emond’s field and the al’Thor farm around him.

* * *

When Mat awoke, it was reluctantly, and not because anybody had done it for him. Murky, troubled dreams had plagued him, and he opened his eyes to the diffuse light of Tam’s brazier and the kitschy string bulbs hung around the ceiling.

Rand was there, sitting comfortably in the rocking chair and staring at what Mat recognized as Tam’s pipe in his hands. The pipe was packed, but unlit. He just held it in his bandaged fingers, staring intently.

“Need a lighter?” Mat asked, voice rough with sleep.

Though he didn’t startle, Rand blinked a few times, like he was coming out of a daze. “Yeah, actually,” he said, and set the pipe aside.

“Too bad,” mumbled Mat, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I lost mine.”

“To the surprise of no one,” Rand laughed. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Nah,” yawned Mat. “Think my bladder did that.”

Rand quirked a smile at him. “Well, when you’re done with that, I brought you some food. Tam wanted to go all out with the comfort food, but I convinced him to just make the pasta.”

Seeing the plate Mat indicated, he raised his eyebrows at the heaping stack of baked vegetable penne and what looked to be half a loaf of bread with it.

“Nice,” he said, rising from the bed. “Back in a minute then. Don’t eat my bread.”

“I’ll try to contain myself,” said Rand, quiet but snarky—Light it was good to hear him sass.

“You’d better,” Mat mumbled, shoving Rand’s shoulder when he passed him.

Finished with his business, Mat flexed long disused skills to guess at the time by both sky and stars, figuring it must be around eight. Rand had let him sleep for a long time. The thought made him smile, but also called to mind his lingering exhaustion, and how much he just wanted to scarf down the food and pass out, again.

“Alright, let me at it,” he said, walking back in. Rand had the pipe lit, now, and was puffing placidly on it as he rocked in the chair.

Setting to, he was surprised to find the pasta still quite warm. Rand must have been keeping it close to the brazier. As usual, farm fresh bread was better than anything anybody in Caemlyn had—definitely from Marin al’Vere’s bakery. Tam was never any good at much but flatbread.

“How’s your Da?” Asked Mat around a mouthful.

“He’s Da,” shrugged Rand, smiling a little. “Worried and trying to pretend like he’s not.”

“Ha,” said Mat, retrieving a bottle of water from the beer fridge. “Yeah. Plays a mean game of stones, but he’s shit at poker.”

“Well I should imagine anybody playing against you is probably at a disadvantage, Mr. Professional,” said Rand, grinning around the pipe in his teeth. “You really did win that car in a poker game!”

A combination of pride and embarrassment flushed Mat’s face.

“College didn’t really suit me, and Da’s thing with horses or the tabac farming was never really _my_ thing, so professional gambling kinda fell in my lap,” Mat shrugged, scooping the last of the penne onto his bread and eating it like a sandwich.

“What about stones?” Rand asked, cocking his head. “You were still doing those tournaments, at least you mentioned them, I think,” Rand frowned, blowing smoke from his nose. “Sorry, with… everything, it’s hard to remember.”

“I…” Mat drew out the word. “Kinda burned my bridges with stones. It’s a long story, but it was definitely worth it,” he said decisively, smirking a little at the memory of his last pro match.

“You’ll have to tell me sometime,” Rand laughed, though he yawned at the end of it.

For all Mat was tired, he could only imagine how exhausted Rand was.

“Another time, definitely,” Mat agreed. “I’m fuckin’ wiped, right now. I could probably sleep for like, ten more hours.”

“Yeah,” Rand sighed, and fiddled with the pipe, looking towards the door and the farmhouse beyond with something like reluctance. “Yeah, me too.”

Mat went over and sat on the bed. “Stay out here. We can have a barn sleepover, like we did in school when we’d get sauced on Tam’s brandy.”

A genuine giggle burst out of Rand, and Mat beamed.

“Light,” Rand laughed. “I haven’t heard anyone say _‘sauced’_ in years.”

“Well, yeah,” said Mat, settling back down onto the bed and wriggling out of his jeans. Shit, _there_ was the lighter he’d been looking for. “Pretty sure I’m the only one you know who says it.”

“Sleepover, then? Really?” Rand asked, eyeing him.

Mat tossed his jeans onto the chair that held his belt. “Like slightly more sober old times.”

“Do your boxers have dice on them?” asked Rand, abandoning the pipe on a side table and starting to remove his shoes.

“Felt like a day for luck,” Mat shrugged, scooting back toward the far end of the bed.

Rand paused and gave Mat a look. “Lucky boxers. Really.”

“All of my boxers are lucky,” yawned Mat, settling down and tugging the blanket over him. “Lucky that I wear them at all.”

Shuffling sounds, and the soft _whump_ of fabric being discarded reached Mat’s ears.

“I was gonna say, you didn’t used to be so modest,” said Rand, approaching the bed.

A familiar crawling feeling assaulted Mat’s skin for a moment, and he absently rubbed at his wrists, then his neck, trying to soothe the phantom sensations away.

“I have my moments,” Mat said, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t give anything away.

The bed dipped, and Mat turned to watch Rand stretch out his ridiculously long body. What bare skin Mat could see remained in shadow, but Rand moved somewhat gingerly. It made Mat forget his own pain, and when Rand had settled beneath the blanket, Mat turned over and wriggled until he could press his forehead to Rand’s shoulder.

After a few moments of the contact, he felt Rand’s tense body relax. If anybody asked Mat if he was in love with Rand, he would probably say yes. _Of course_ he was. But it was… a novel kind of love. There had never been anything sexual between them; their relationship was one of deep affection. Mat suspected Rand was probably some variety of asexual, but he knew Rand loved him too.

Lying there, listening to Rand breathe, he felt Rand reach out a hand for his own. Mat held it, running his thumb over the soft bandaging, breathing in the scent of tabac smoke, and the cleaner scent of a recent shower.

The trials of the day, and the long night before, had Mat drifting off to sleep before he could do more than idly wonder where Rand had found a lighter, when Mat’s had been in his jeans.

* * *

_“Oh, you just look so sweet like this,” she purred, running her hands over his chest._

_“Mmeesh,” Mat croaked through the silk gag, his throat raw and sore._

_“I could just look at you like this for days,” laughed Tylin, idly tugging at the ribbon wrapped around Mat’s painfully swollen cock. “All that_ skin _you put on display, just for me.”_

_The ribbons tying him to the bed dug into him, and Mat tried to pull at them, but there was no give. Around him the curtains of the bed seemed to melt away into endless darkness. It was just him and Tylin. This was not what he wanted. He did not want this. He wanted to go home, he wanted it to be over._

_“But I should put that pretty mouth of yours to work. Use it like a toy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”_

_If Mat had had any room to breathe faster, he would have, but his breath just wheezed painfully in and out of him. The ribbon around his throat drew tight and constricted his breath; he’d struggled so much, and it had just gotten tighter._

_Tylin produced that hateful, slender knife of hers and brought it to his face, running the blade along his cheek in a parody of tenderness—maybe she thought it_ was _tender, Mat didn’t know anymore. She jerked the knife and his gag fell away, and he gasped for more air, sobbing for breath._

_“Oh, you know what comes next,” she said, leaning down toward his face. Her eyes were wrong, and Mat whimpered in fear. Pits of flame stared back at him._

_He knew. He always knew. This was the part where he died._

_Tylin wrapped her fingers around his throat, put her face close to his._

_Mat waited for the knife._

_Instead, Tylin_ screamed _—eyes of fire opening wide—and burst into flame._

_The scream went on, and Mat screamed as she burned, the ribbons gone, curling in fire, she kept screaming the shriek deepening to a roar—_

Mat gasped awake, his own scream caught in his throat.

Confused, Mat looked around wildly, because _the scream hadn’t stopped_.

Scrambling upright, chest heaving, Mat looked to his left to see Rand, head clutched in his hands, screaming like he’d lost his mind.

Beyond Rand, the brazier flare like a chunk of coal had burst apart inside of it.

Another horrible, anguished scream was wrenched from Rand, and Mat scrambled over to him, practically leaping off of the bed to kneel in front of him in the dim light of the string bulbs. Mat clasped Rand’s wrists, rubbing at them, trying to get him to release his face where his hands, the bandages thankfully still intact, gripped the side of his head.

“Rand, _Rand_!” Mat said, over the sound of his friend’s scream. Light, he could hear the horses outside whinnying in fright. “Rand, buddy, come on, take a breath. You’re safe, I’m here.”

The scream stopped and Rand’s body jerked with his rapid, panicked breaths. “No, no, no,” said Rand, his voice a cracked whisper. “It’s not real, it’s not real.”

“Yes it fucking is,” Mat said, pulling at Rand’s wrists. “I’m right here, come on, give me your hand, feel how real I am.”

Without warning, another scream tore out of Rand’s throat, like he was in agony, and Mat flinched back, releasing him.

_“No more!”_

The string bulbs around the ceiling flared bright with light before bursting, a shower of glass and sparks that terrified Mat for a moment, fearing they’d catch the barn on fire.

In the near darkness, Mat saw and felt Rand rise from the bed, stumbling around. Fuck, there was glass everywhere. Heedless, Mat jumped to his feet and made for the light switch. Thankfully, whatever surge had just toasted the string lights had not affected that, and the room filled the incandescent light.

Squinting, Mat saw that Rand was pacing in a tight circle, arms hugged to his hunched from. As his eyes adjusted, Mat gasped.

Light. By the light of the world, Rand was… _Light_ , he was a canvas of bruises and— _scars_. There were even half-healed wounds that were stitched closed or scabbed over.

His chest and sides were the mottled purple and blue, yellowing only slightly around the edges. Blood and ashes the _scars_. Mat covered his mouth with his hand as he took in the state of Rand’s body. Cuts, what looked like gouges, stripes on his back that may have been whip marks. His frame was so thin, ribs visible beneath tight skin.

But the worst were his wrists. Light, Mat had known his fingers were damaged, but from his wrists to his elbows was a network of angry red lines, what looked like deranged track marks, the flesh appearing mottled or wrinkled as if it had been burned.

Rand had stopped screaming, just pacing in the tight space, barely moving two steps before turning. Mat navigated around the glass as best he could, and wrapped his arms around Rand, trying to stop him.

Letting himself be stopped, Rand breathed harsh, and fast. “It’s not real, I won’t fall for it again. I won’t, I _won’t_.”

“You’re home in Emond’s Field, you’re on your Da’s farm,” Mat murmured, holding onto Rand from the side, trying to keep an eye on his feet. Light, there looked like there might be blood. “Earlier today you got to see Perrin. Remember Perrin? He had Hopper with him. Do you remember Hopper?”

Rand stopped, and Mat saw his eyes closing tightly, tears slipping from beneath the lids as his closed mouth trembled. “W-wolf. Hopper is a wolf,” Rand said.

“Yeah, yes,” Mat praised, gentling his grip and rubbing his hand across Rand’s back. “Hey, think you could go sit for me, sit over on the bed? We’re fucking up our feet on all this glass.”

“I can… I can sit?” Rand asked, his voice sounding small, hopeful.

For what felt like the tenth time, Mat’s heart broke inside his chest.

“You can sit as long as you like,” Mat said, chin trembling with emotion.

Rand sat, and Mat guided his head lower. “Okay, now just breathe with me. Okay? Light knows I need to fucking breathe right now. Great at breathing, that’s us.”

He kept up the chatter while Rand came out of the panic attack and responded to more small questions about what they’d done that day, what they’d talked about. Finally, they were both silent.

Mat knew it was over when Rand tried to hide his wrists, ineffectually crossing them over his bruised chest.

Mat drew a blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around Rand’s shoulders. Rand clutched it tight about himself, and sat there, body trembling occasionally.

Looking around at the floor, Mat saw that they’d avoided the worst of the glass from the burst string bulbs, but from what he could see and _feel_ , they’d both managed to cut themselves up a little bit. First order of business, Mat hobbled over to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of brandy, and picked his way back over to Rand.

Sitting down heavily next to him, Mat pulled the stopper out of the bottle and took a hefty swig. He passed it to Rand and heard him doing the same.

“Like old times?” Rand rasped, from next to him. Through the croak, Mat could hear that sweet self-deprecating sass he had missed so much

_Laugh or cry, Matrim Cauthon._

“Like old times,” he agreed, and Mat figured the shards of glass in their feet would keep for a few minutes.

When they finally saw to each other’s feet, both a little drunk, they had neither of them said a word about the nightmare that had awoken Mat, Rand’s panic attack, or the bruises and scars that littered his body.

Miraculously—or, Mat thought to himself, _luckily_ —though they had cut their feet a bit, there wasn’t a sliver or shard of glass to be found in them.

It was just after four in the morning. By six, both of them were laid out drunk in bed— _“Sauced!”_ as Mat had crowed, along with the rooster in the yard.

“Dibs on big spoon,” Mat muttered, dragging the much-abused blanket over them both.

Rand mumbled something in response that Mat took to be agreement, because he arranged himself on his side and let Mat snug himself against his back. It was a ridiculous fit, Rand being a head and taller than him, but Mat didn’t give a fuck. He tossed an arm over Rand and hoped the nightmares would leave them be until after the hangover.

“I missed you,” he heard Rand say.

Mat tightened his grip on Rand for a moment, turning it into a hug.

“I missed you, too,” he mumbled to Rand’s back.

Maybe not _just_ like old times, but close enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Edgedancer, ofthebrownajah, EmTee and others for continuing to mold this AU with me! I really am having a lovely time, even if poor Rand isn't.
> 
> Want to get in on the fun? Join the [Wheel of Time Trash discord](https://discord.gg/XUvCR2z) for shipping, fic, prompts, headcanons, smut, kinks, and general flailing about this stupid series that we all love for some reason.


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